Chapter Text
Gadreel slunk along a back alley in Bad-tibira, out of human sight. He was following a man who he suspected was part of a thieves guild based in the city and had been causing havoc here, in Uruk, and even as far south as Larsa. While it wasn’t his garrison’s normal business, Gadreel suspected that the increase in crime was more than simple human mischief, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
The man turned a corner, and as Gadreel rounded it himself, he found the man gone. There were no immediate doorways, no holes in the mud brick large enough for him to slip through, and there were too many people in the inner city for Gadreel to discern just one man. He should’ve just given up the chase, but he’d put in far too much time into this mission—one even his garrison commander Ananiel was skeptical of—to walk away without answers.
His vessel had grown up in this city in dirty, cramped back streets like this one, so Gadreel tapped into that knowledge, hoping for something that would be helpful, a hidden door or a secret alley or a password to give to a local shopkeeper.
Look for Nergal’s symbol, his vessel said.
That… wasn’t quite the help Gadreel had been seeking. The natures and symbols of each of the pagan gods varied from city to city, and he had only the vaguest notion of how Nergal was depicted here, far away from Gudua, the center of the pagan’s cult.
From the corner of his eye, Gadreel spotted an unusual carving on a wall, a lion head atop a mace, wreathed in flame. That would be it, in case you were wondering, was the haughty response from his vessel. Gadreel shoved him back into a corner of his own mind with a glare and a very small word of gratitude.
Standing directly in front of the symbol allowed him to see a crack in the mud brick that was hidden from any other angle. How the thief had slipped into it was another mystery, but before Gadreel could attempt it himself, Ananiel’s voice rang out over the garrison channel, calm despite the urgency of her words.
“Rogue spotted in Nippur! All hands to me!”
Gadreel was in the air before he even realized what he was doing. He headed northwest, towards the center of the Shinar plain. Sumer, some called it, though the populace themselves had yet to come to a consensus on anything, let alone what to call their land between the two rivers.
The battle between the two angels was evident before Gadreel had even passed over Isin, situated south across the bank of the Euphrates from Nippur. Their Graces were brighter than even the midday sun, the Grace of Ananiel’s opponent bearing a slight golden hue, and Gadreel only knew of one angel fitting that description.
“Azazel.” Gadreel felt a different, though familiar, Grace brush against the tips of his wings. “We should’ve known the first traitor would be him.”
He glanced sidelong at his brother. “Easy, Bartholomew. We don’t yet know the situation.”
Bartholomew scoffed. “This is not a time for questions. We have to deal with any dissenters quickly, unless you want Heaven to be torn apart from within?”
Like the way the archangels were dealing with Lucifer’s dissent? Gadreel squashed the thought as soon as it came. If Father (and, by extension, Michael) believed that Lucifer would return and gave no orders otherwise, it was not their place to make hasty judgments. “Of course not,” he said so Bartholomew could hear him, shaking his head. “But we cannot—”
“Then shut up and fight. Michael didn’t assign us here to be diplomats,” his brother said, surging past him and on to Nippur.
With a sigh and a heavier heart, Gadreel followed. As they approached, Hester, Ananiel’s second, stopped them at the city walls. Behind her Gadreel could see Ananiel and Azazel atop the ziggurat, a shrine dedicated to the pagan Enlil. Sacrilege upon sacrilege. It was fitting.
“Where’s Abner?” Hester asked, her stern gaze fixed on Gadreel.
Answering her was difficult even without Bartholomew giving him the dirtiest look his vessel’s boyish face could manage, but Gadreel did his best to defend his partner. “He’s still on patrol in the south, though I wouldn’t recall him just yet. Who knows what Azazel might have planned if we focus all of our attention here?”
Hester narrowed her eyes but after a moment nodded in agreement. “True enough. He is one of the cleverest seraphim, in or out of Lucifer’s choir. We should call Ezekiel’s unit in Kemet for assistance.”
“We can’t afford to wait for them,” Bartholomew said, fluttering around them, restlessness emanating from his Grace. “Or for Abner, the coward. Ananiel needs us now.”
Neither of them moved to argue that, though guilt gnawed at Gadreel, payment for his silence, not that Bartholomew was wrong. “However, we’re no use to anyone dead, and rushing in without backup or a plan will get us just that.”
As Bartholomew went to reply, the light behind him got brighter—another angel had joined the fray. Hester turned, wings stilling as she surveyed the scene.
“Inias! What in Father’s name is he doing?” she said before dropping into a dive to join the fight.
Gadreel and Bartholomew followed her, their differences of opinion forgotten in light of their brother’s peril. As they approached, Azazel knocked Hester and Inias back with a wave of force, his main attention focused on matching blades with Ananiel. Bartholomew took up their place, slashing wildly at the seraph’s wings, while Gadreel helped up his brother and sister.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, though taking a quick look at Inias made the question a ridiculous one.
“I’m fine,” was the answer of both Inias and Hester, though even she had to raise an eyebrow at Inias’ affirmation.
The younger angel bore a deep cut that zigzagged across his chest, the wound weeping ichor at an alarming rate. Gadreel raised a hand to heal him, but Inias waved him off, voice weak. “No, don’t waste your energy. We need to stop Azazel first.”
With a nod Hester returned to the fight. Gadreel lingered, not missing how Inias wavered on his feet and couldn’t keep his eyes focused. “Your Grace has been damaged. You don’t expect me to just let you—”
“Yes.” Inias shoved at him, hissing with the effort. “Our commander needs you more than I. One of Raphael’s healers will see to me when this is over, and I’ll be just fine. Now go.”
There was a conviction in the younger angel’s voice, one that Gadreel didn’t dare trespass, so he obeyed. Instead of flying into the battle, he went in the opposite direction, waiting until he felt more than heard Azazel taunt his companions with his supposed cowardice. He kept a close eye on the fight, making an arc around the city, until he was behind it and out of Azazel’s sight. By then the seraph had Hester and Bartholomew pinned, gloating over them while he traded blows with Ananiel, who for her part stood firm against the tumultuous tide of battle, the rock in the storm but not nearly so inflexible.
Ananiel gave Gadreel the barest of glances before throwing her reserves of strength at Azazel, kicking him to the ground, and Gadreel seized the opportunity provided him. He wasn’t a fast flier, nor a graceful one, but strength he had; he used the momentum from his flight to bear down on Azazel, the force enough to combat the seraph’s attempts to divert him. Too late Azazel tried to move out of the path, only to be met with Gadreel’s blade plunging into one of his primary wings, pinning him to the ground.
“Couldn’t do it by yourself, could you, little Ananiel?” Azazel asked with a strained laugh. “I would expect nothing less from one of Michael’s whelps.”
“Well I doubt you’ve noticed, but we angels tend to work better together,” Ananiel said, moving to stand over Azazel, blade gleaming in her hand.
The seraph gave her a look, somehow condescending despite his helpless position. “How trite, and how very like the sheep the archangels want you to be.”
During the conversation Bartholomew had managed to find his feet, and in a flash he was kneeling by Azazel, pressing his blade hard enough into the seraph’s free wing to draw ichor. “Watch your words, traitor. You don’t get to speak of the archangels, not after the things you’ve done.”
“Humans reveling in a little chaos is hardly something you can blame on me.” Azazel said, his mouth twisted into a grin that had Gadreel’s stomach turning.
He must not have been alone in that feeling, because Ananiel’s voice wavered for the first time as she replied, “Not like this. You corrupted these people, though why remains a mystery.”
Azazel gave a short bark of a laugh, all derision and no amusement. “Corrupt them? There was nothing to corrupt, sister.” He spat out the word, put an edge on it like Gadreel had never before heard, those unsettling gold-yellow eyes of his narrowed into slits. “They’re flawed, short-sighted creatures. The chaos here in Nippur was bound to happen eventually, no divine intervention necessary. It was only a matter of time.”
Hester crossed her arms, one wing curling around Ananiel, just enough so that their commander wouldn’t notice. “Much like your imminent betrayal, it would seem.”
“Enough.” Ananiel bent down until her face was less than a foot from the seraph’s. “We will leave you to Heaven’s judgment. I can’t imagine they’ll show you any more mercy than you showed these humans.” With that, she sunk her blade lengthwise into Azazel’s abdomen, knocking him unconscious.
Bartholomew withdrew the blades from the seraph’s primary wings, and he and Hester hauled him to his feet, each restraining one half of Azazel’s body with their Grace. “He really shouldn’t have taunted a Watcher who trained as an interrogator.”
Ananiel shot him a look. “And you shouldn’t taunt a brother who outranks you, even if he’s incapacitated.” She turned to Gadreel. “We’ll take him to Michael and Inias to Raphael. Go to Shuruppak and wait for Abner, then split the patrol routes between you until we return. Now is not the time to let down our guard, we don’t know how far this one’s influence has spread, and we might have to be watchful for more than just angels.”
A dark cloud passed over her face at those words, Azazel’s words ringing in all their ears now; Gadreel wouldn’t let it take hold. While they could not relax, there was also no room for doubt in their mission. He laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to give her what reassurance he could. “Of course. Be careful.”
That seemed to break the spell, even if just for the moment, and a small smile crossed Ananiel’s face. “And you, doubly so. For now, you and Abner are our first line of defense here. We’re counting on you.” As she lifted Inias into her arms, she spoke again, this time the words easing out from her Grace to his. Father chose every Watcher Himself, each of us for a reason, even if we don’t understand it. Never forget that.
With that his comrades took wing, heading with due haste toward the gates of Heaven. Gadreel kept his eyes on them to the last, until they crossed the dimensional border.
Alone atop the ziggurat, he now had an unobstructed view of the city, and the picture Azazel painted became clear. People went about their normal lives, ignorant of the conflict that had occurred above them minutes before, but there was something else, something new. The thieves guild in Bad-tibira looked like child’s play compared to the amount of chaos that wove its way through Nippur, the shrine of Enlil beneath his feet in particular emanating an unprecedented darkness. What had the seraph done?
Gadreel shook his head and made for Shuruppak.